


Peter Versus the Intersect

by lamujerarana



Category: Chuck (TV), Fantastic Four, Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Grief/Mourning, Humor, M/M, Romance, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-17
Packaged: 2018-05-21 10:08:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamujerarana/pseuds/lamujerarana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter's working a miserable, dead-end retail job, his life going steadily nowhere. One day, while he's at work, in walks the most beautiful guy he's ever seen. Turns out his name's Johnny Storm, and he's about to change Peter's life forever. It certainly won't ever be boring again.</p><p>A Chuck/Spideytorch fusion.</p><p>***<br/>“So what, uh, what seems to be the problem, Mr….?” Peter asks.</p><p>“Storm,” he says flippantly. “Johnny Storm.”</p><p>“Oh,” Peter says. “Cool name. It sounds very James Bond-y.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Johnny coughs, looking away. “It, uh, does, doesn’t it?” His eyes flick down to Peter’s name tag. “Peter?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Peter says. “Peter Parker. My name, uh, isn’t as cool as yours.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peter Versus the Intersect

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't get a chance to finish the whole fic, since it's turning out longer than I'd thought, but I thought I'd post what I did get done! Spies are always fun.

“Peter!” Mary Jane hisses, shaking his arm urgently. “We need to get out of here. We need to run before they find us, or god knows what’ll happen!”

“I know!” Peter snaps, trying desperately to open the window and escape. “Don’t you think I know that?”

“But if they find us—”

“I _know_!”

“It’ll be—”

“The worst thing ever?”

“Yeah, I don’t think that really expresses how awful it’d be.”

“Oh, god!” Peter says frantically, eyes wide with panic as he hears the doorknob begin to turn. "Code red! Code red! Code red!”

Mary Jane dives towards the window and shoves him away in a frantic but ultimately futile effort to escape. Peter’s rooted to the ground, absolutely frozen with terror.

“Peter?” Aunt May asks from the doorway.

Oh, god, they're both dead, is all Peter can think.

Aunt May spots Mary Jane with a leg dangling off of the sill, clutching a tree branch, a guilty expression frozen onto her face. Aunt May puts her hands on her hips and scowls. “What on earth is going on here?”

“We, uh, we were just—” Peter says, scrabbling around desperately for a believable excuse.

“Trying to get away?” Aunt May supplies. She does not sound pleased.

“Uh…no?” Mary Jane tries from her perch in the window. She casually slides her leg back in and straightens her stylish crimson dress. “I just wanted to see if I could, I don’t know…climb down that tree? Just for fun, no real reason.”

Aunt May pinches the bridge of her nose and takes a few moments to breathe deeply and collect herself. “You are—both of you—going to this party.”

“But—” Mary Jane and Peter both whine.

Aunt May holds up a hand. “No. I will tolerate no arguments of any kind from either of you. Anna and I have invited dozens of perfectly nice girls and boys. You have—both of you—been single for far too long.”

“That's not fair! I _haven’t_ been single!” Mary Jane protests, throwing up her hands. “I’ve had _dozens_ of boyfriends and a few girlfriends.”

“That last all of a _week_ , young lady,” Aunt May snaps. “If that. You’re no longer a child. It’s time you started to think about settling down. Found someone you have a real future with.”

“I’m twenty-three!”

“Exactly,” Aunt May says, nodding primly. “I was already a married woman when I was your age.”

“This isn’t the 1980s,” she objects. “People get married later now. I have years yet."

“Your aunt and I just want to see you happy, Mary Jane.”

“I am happy.” Mary Jane tilts her chin up. “I’m really not sure I even want to get married.” Now she’s just being deliberately provocative. "Besides, I don't need my aunts' help to find a man or woman. I'm dating about a dozen of them right now."

"And exactly how many of their names do you remember?"

Mary Jane's mouth twists. "Now, that's not fair. Their names aren't _that_ important."

Aunt May sighs and rolls her eyes, but relents. She's clearly a lost cause. “As for you, Peter Benjamin Parker,” she says briskly, “I have tolerated your aimlessness long enough. It is beyond time for you to pull yourself out of this downward spiral of self-pity. Five years is quite long enough, thank you. You’re a Parker. Act like it.”

“But—” Peter starts.

“Downstairs,” Aunt May says firmly, pointing a finger at the door. “ _Now_. Both of you.”

Peter knows that tone of voice. He’s heard it too often to think there’s any reason to bother arguing.

They sigh and lumber out of the door, reluctantly heading downstairs towards the sounds of cordial conversation and clinking glasses.

“Well,” Mary Jane whispers as soon as they’re out of hearing range. “Maybe somebody at this party won’t be a total snooze. We can only hope.”

“Doubtful,” Peter tells her. “Remember last time?”

Mary Jane shudders. “Please don’t ever mention that to me again. That was the _worst_. One of the boys they invited spent thirty minutes trying to convince me that classical music made all other musical genres unnecessary. What a tool. Another one tried to convince me that it was unseemly for women to work after marriage.”

“Oh, god. Did you let him live?” He frowns. “Hey, is he the one you threw that drink at?"

Mary Jane snorts. “I threw a wine bottle at him, Petey.”

“Right. It _was_ a wine bottle, wasn’t it? Maybe a tiny overreaction?”

“Nope.”

“Fair enough. Remind me to never make you angry.”

“Aw, I would never throw a wine bottle at you, Petey,” she coos. “I like you too much for that. I would just chase you around with it and scare you a little. You already know I could kick your ass, so you’re smart enough to be scared of me. Most of these boys are too stupid to know that.”

“You used to beat me in fights when we were in fifth grade,” he says sourly. “I’m bigger than you are now.”

“Size isn’t everything, you know. Me, I’m scrappy and fierce. You’re a pushover, and always too nice to everybody, and c'mon, you'd never lay a finger on me.”

“I am _not_ nice to everybody!”

"You help little old ladies cross the street. I have seen you, so don't bother to deny it."

"That was Aunt May!"

"I mean besides her. Obviously."

"I did that once."

"I've seen you do it at least three times, so I really doubt that."

Peter rolls his eyes and gives up.

When they reach the bottom of the stairs, Peter takes some time to survey the hordes of cheerful, almost too perfect faces of the women and men their aunts invited. He feels like a prize bull being put on display. He doesn’t like it.

His displeasure and unease must show on his face, because Mary Jane hooks her arm through his and squeezes. “Hey," she says. “Your aunt was right about one thing. You really ought to try getting out there, y’know? Five years is a long, long, long time to go without any sexy times, Peter.”

“Yeah, I know,” Peter says quietly, eyes lingering on the crowd. “I just…haven’t been able to get over it, y’know? It’s been rough.”

“Yeah, I’ve been with you every step of the way. I’ve seen how much of a toll it took on you. But it’s been five years. You know what they say. Time heals all wounds.”

“Some wounds run too deep to ever heal, Mary Jane. You of all people should know that."

“You work at a Buy More,” she says. “And you’re miserable. You know you were meant for more than that, Peter.”

“I don’t know that at all, MJ,” Peter tells her wearily. “C’mon. We should just get this over with.” He takes a deep breath to steady himself and walks off to the living room.

He feels precisely as though he were walking into a den of wolves.

* * *

Less than ten minutes later, Peter is already surrounded by five women, all interrogating him about his life. Aunt May’s already told them the basics, luckily.

“So your aunt says you went to ESU?” one of them asks hopefully.

“Yeah,” Peter replies. “But I lost my scholarship and had to drop out junior year.”

“How did you lose your scholarship?” another one asks, frowning. “Your aunt didn’t mention that.”

“My girlfriend, Gwen, she—she died and I just.” He tries to smile, but it’s raw and tight-lipped and awful. “I couldn’t handle it.”

He’s had to talk about this a lot since then, but every damn time, it still feels like a knife to the gut, even after five whole years.

It doesn’t feel like it’s been that long to Peter, that’s for sure.

For him, it feels like it was only five minutes ago that he kissed her goodbye on her front porch. The night had been unusually warm, he remembers, and Gwen had been wearing an unforgettable sky blue dress that had matched her eyes perfectly. There were silvery designs on it. He remembers that. They shimmered when she moved.

Her smile had been tinged with a baffling sadness that night; her final kiss had felt almost as though she’d somehow known she was saying goodbye forever.

But that was impossible. There was no way she could have known what was going to happen.

Perhaps Peter had simply convinced himself that it had happened that way after the tragedy that occurred the next morning.

Gwen dead in a car crash. Body so mangled that the funeral had been closed casket. Peter couldn't let himself think about that.

Not that Peter really remembered her funeral. Everything had been a blur after he’d heard the words, “Gwen Stacy is dead.”

He’d been stuck in a haze of grief and mourning that he hadn’t been able to pull himself out of, no matter how hard he tried.

The next thing he knew, it was five months later, his scholarship was gone, and he was working full time at a Buy More, fixing computers and barely earning enough to eke by.

And that had been that. All his dreams were dead.

Peter keeps working at the Buy More now because it's something to do every day, because he finds the monotony and the mindlessness of working retail comforting. No need to worry about what tomorrow will hold, because it will certainly be the same as today.

Sometimes it feels like hell.

“Oh, my god,” the woman with long black hair tells Peter, pressing a hand to her chest. “That’s so sad! Your girlfriend’s dead—what was she like?”

“Brilliant. Beautiful. We were going to change the world together. And then she died,” Peter reminisces mournfully. “And everything was over.”

“Well, what have you been doing since then?” another one prods.

“Nothing,” Peter says miserably. “I work at a Buy More. Things would’ve been so different if Gwen had lived.”

* * *

Miles away, in Washington, D.C., a bloody but clearly very alive Gwen Stacy staggers through a pristine white room that is empty save for a raised dais upon which rests a single computer. She looks as though she’s been fighting for her life, as evidenced by the hand she has pressing against a wound in her side and the blood that seeps through her fingers.

She stumbles over to the console, connects it to her phone, which she pulls from her jacket, and types commands into the interface, every now and then casting wary glances at the door she entered through. The sounds of someone clanging and shouting against that door are clearly audible.

She enters a few commands, and smiles when, at last, the screen reads, “INTERSECT PROJECT ACTIVATED.”

Gwen pulls out a pair of sunglasses and quickly puts them on. She smiles at the screen and says cryptically, “Time to say goodbye.” The words are fairly incongruous with her surroundings, and sound rather more as though they are a code phrase she is using to communicate with some mysterious person.

The white walls of the room, it rapidly becomes apparent, are TV screens. Images flicker across the myriad screens quicker than the eye can register them.

Gwen waits patiently and tries to ignore the ominous sounds of the guards who grow ever closer to breaking down that door.

* * *

Peter looks up after a lengthy reminiscence about his first date with Gwen, only to find that he has been talking to himself for the last five minutes.

He glances over at Mary Jane, who has a circle of admirers around her, all of whom appear utterly charmed and dazzled by her.

He can’t blame them. Mary Jane has beauty, wit, a scintillating personality, and a love life that reflects that.

Peter wishes he could be more like her. She’s suffered losses and hardship in her life, but she hasn’t let that stop her. Her modeling and acting career hasn’t quite taken off yet, but Peter has no doubts whatsoever that it will.

She’ll be a star someday, that’s for certain.

Peter, on the other hand? He looks into his future, and he sees nothing.

* * *

The guards are mere seconds away from breaking the door down. Long experience tells Gwen that.

Luckily, Gwen’s download is completed. She deftly attaches a bomb to the computer and barrels towards the door, just as the guards finally force it open.

The blast of the explosion sends them all toppling to the ground, but Gwen is on her feet within moments. She rushes through the door and skillfully takes down the three guards who are waiting for her on the other side with nothing but her bare hands.

She moves gracefully and has clearly been extensively and expertly trained in martial arts. She has that special fluidity of movement that only comes with natural skill. It’s like she was born to it.

She dashes up the stairs and onto the roof without a backward glance, and then begins leaping across rooftops. The guards try to follow, but they are far less skilled than she, and fall behind.

She pulls out her phone and begins typing furiously as she runs.

Finally she agilely climbs down the side of the building and lands on the floor and the relative safety it represents.

She glances up, a look of triumph in her eyes, and then a single shot rings out.

Gwen glances down at her chest, almost incredulously, and sees blood staining her white shirt. She looks up at the man who shot her, betrayal and shock in the depths of her eyes.

“Too late,” she says, face cracking into a bloody grin. “Too late, Grimm.”

As her body collapses backwards, her phone falls from lifeless fingers and clatters onto the ground next to her. On it is written a single word.

“Peter.”

* * *

The Peter in question is sitting in his aunt’s kitchen, dejectedly drinking a beer, completely unaware of the tragic events occurring in the nation’s capital that will surely change his life forever.

Aunt May wanders in, takes one look at him, and sighs. “Peter,” she says.

“Well, that went terribly,” he tells her. "A+ for effort, though. Those girls all seemed nice...ish."

She sighs again, pulls out a chair, and settles down next to him. “Dear, you can’t talk to them about your girlfriend all night. No woman wants to have to compete with a dead girlfriend. Gwen, bless her soul, passed away years ago. It’s time for you to move on.”

“I don’t know how,” Peter says, lost. “Tell me how.”

“It’s easier if you find someone new,” Aunt May says. “When your Uncle Ben passed, I thought I’d never get over him. I loved him so very, very much. But then I found Anna, and the impossible happened. I began to heal. It can happen for you too, dearest. You just need to try. If not for yourself, then for me. I don’t like seeing you like this. This isn’t the life I wanted for you.”

“It’s not the life I wanted either,” Peter sighs, rising to his feet wearily. “But it’s the only one I’ve got.”

He walks out, beer bottle dangling from his fingers, and leaves his aunt staring after him unhappily.

* * *

Out of the shadows walks a tall, thin man with distinctive brown hair and streaks of white at his temples.

“You shouldn’t have shot her, Ben,” he says to the man who is standing over Gwen’s lifeless body, smoking gun still resting in his hand.

“Couldn’t help it, Stretch,” Ben shrugs, crouching down to pick up Gwen’s phone. “Never liked her. She was always too good at everything. SHIELD’s golden girl.”

“Our orders were to capture, not to kill,” Reed points out. “I always tell you you’re too trigger-happy.”

“Guns make me happy,” Ben says coolly as he flips the phone around, examining it, and presses the buttons to see if it’ll turn on. It doesn’t. “So does clobberin’ bad guys. Makes me go all warm and fuzzy inside.”

“We’re not sure she’s a bad guy,” Reed reminds him. “That’s why we were investigating.”

“I could smell it on her,” Ben tells him. “Somethin’ was up. Her allegiance wasn’t completely to SHIELD anymore.” He stands and hands the phone over to Reed. “So can you get the data back, Einstein?”

Reed scrutinizes the phone, peers at the keyboard, and cracks it open. “No,” he says. “Look, the hard drive is burned out. It must have been rigged to self-destruct. But—” He frowns at the screen. "—it looks as though she sent a message to someone named Peter."

“We need to recover our intel,” Ben says. He claps a hand on Reed’s shoulder. “C’mon, let’s go report in.”

Reed sighs but trails after him. “They’re not going to be happy with you. Prepare yourself for a scolding.”

“We’re the best they got,” Ben scoffs. “What’re they gonna do, bench me?”

“One of these days, your luck will run out, Ben,” Reed warns.

“And you’ll bail me out with that big brain of yours when it does,” Ben replies, not sounding too worried. “It’s what you do."

* * *

When Peter walks into his room, he finds Mary Jane lying on his bed, still all dressed up, staring sightlessly at the ceiling.

“Well,” she says. “This evening was a disaster.”

“Really?” Peter asks, frowning, as he shuts the door. “It looked like you were having tons of fun.”

“I wasn’t,” Mary Jane says. “I was just making the best of it. Those boys were all idiots, and they were _so_ _boring_. None of them were any good at kissing, and believe me, I tested them all out.”

Peter rolls his eyes and stretches out next to her. “Of course you did.”

“So I saw you struck out completely."

“Yeah. Not a big deal, though. They just…weren’t for me.”

“Nobody you ever meet is good enough for you, Peter.”

“You can’t blame me for having standards.”

“It doesn’t have to be true love, you know. You can just go out and have fun without commitment. You can even have sex.”

“I’m not knocking it, but I just can’t do it, MJ. It’s not for me. I’m not…wired that way.”

She shrugs. “You’re missing out. It’s pretty fun. Sleeping around, I mean.”

“Probably. But I need to feel something for the person, y’know? Otherwise it’s no fun at all.”

“Hence your track record of exactly three partners.” 

Peter’s phone dings. He pulls it out of his jacket and frowns. “That’s weird.”

“What?” Mary Jane asks, peering at the screen.

“This email is from a gstacy.”

“A relative, maybe?”

“She didn’t really have any after her dad passed. Just a few distant cousins.”

“Well, open it,” she urges. “It probably explains who it’s from."

“No, it doesn’t say anything. It just has an attachment.” He tries to click on it a few times. “That won’t open on my phone. Let me get my laptop.”

He leans over, reaches under his bed, and yanks it out.

“Whoa,” he says when he clicks on it. The screen goes black, and a single sentence appears, along with a blinking cursor. “It’s…a computer game that Gwen and I were designing before she....”

“How did someone else get ahold of it, and why send it to you?” Mary Jane asks.

Peter shrugs. “I dunno.”

“Maybe you have to play it to figure it out?”

“Maybe,” Peter says. “‘The Green Goblin throws a fiery jack o’ lantern.’ Hmm. I don’t really remember what the right answer was.”

“Green Goblin?”

“Character we made up. Loosely based on Harry’s dad, actually. In that they're both dicks. Except, you know, this one's green.”

“And a goblin.”

“Well, that’s not that far off, really.”

Peter grins at her cheekily. She smirks at him in response, and then leans over and kisses his cheek affectionately. “Good night, Petey," she says. "This’s been fun, but I have some cute boys to text and you have a video game to play. I know how you get when you have a new video game to play.”

“Are these the boys from the party?” he teases as she gets up and heads for the door. “I thought you didn’t like them.”

She whirls around in the doorway and gives him her most dazzling smile. “These are waaaay hotter than those. Mary Jane Watson is never short on men and women falling at her feet, and don’t you forget it.” She winks at him and shuts the door behind her.

Peter shakes his head, smiling, and turns back at his computer.

“What was it?” he mutters to himself. “Oh. Oh. That’s right. We—we invented that hero guy.” He puts his hands on the keyboard and starts to type. “The Spider-Man dodges to the left and shoots his webs at the glider.”

He hits enter, and immediately across the screen begin to flash the images that had filled the room Gwen had been in earlier.

Peter’s frozen in place, his face blank, almost as though he’s hypnotized.

* * *

Maria Hill and Nick Fury are standing in the midst of the wrecked remains of the room Gwen had been in earlier.

"Damn it all to hell," Fury grits out. "How the hell did this happen, Maria?"

"I don't know, sir," she replies. "We thoroughly vetted Agent Stacy. She's been our top agent for years. No one could have seen this coming."

"I saw it comin'," Ben says coolly as he strolls into the room, Reed trailing after him. "Never trusted her."

"And _you!_ " Fury shouts, jabbing a finger at Ben. "Oh, don't think I've forgotten about you. Who the hell authorized you to put a bullet in one of my agents?"

"She'd just blown up the Intersect," Reed interjects. "We had every reason to be suspicious of her."

"Which is why you bring her in for questioning," Fury counters. "You don't put a damn bullet between her eyes!"

"Chest, actually," Ben says. 

"Not the point, Grimm!" Fury bellows. "The point is I don't like losing my agents. And when I do, I'd damn well better know why! Now can anyone here tell me _why_ Agent Stacy did any of this?"

"No, sir," Ben says, chastened. "But I will find out if you give me the authorization."

"I don't know if I can trust you on this one, Grimm," Fury tells him. "You're getting a little trigger-happy."

"Give us a chance to prove ourselves, sir," Reed says. "I'll reign him in."

"Oh, you mean the way you did when he shot my damn agent?"

"I...didn't know he was going to do that, sir," Reed answers.

"From now on, Colonel Grimm, you shoot who I tell you to shoot," Fury orders. "Are we clear?"

"Yes, sir," Ben says briskly. "Won't happen again."

Fury looks up at the ceiling like he's pleading for patience. "Fine," he says. "You have authorization. Track down whoever did this. Find out where the Intersect went."

"Yes, sir," Ben and Reed both say.

"Dismissed," Fury tells them. They turn to walk away. "And don't you dare shoot anyone, Grimm, or I will have your damn head on a platter!"

He turns back to Maria once they're out of sight. "Send a back-up team," he tells her. "Just in case."

"You don't trust them, sir?"

"I just want to make sure no one else gets killed because of Colonel Grimm. Damn fighter jet jockeys. They're all like this, you know. Think they know better than everyone. And Grimm's the worst of all of them, him and his damn scientist partner. Gonna get each other killed one of these days."

"You've mentioned, sir. Who should I send?"

"You know exactly who, Hill. Have them make contact with the target before Grimm and Richards get to him."

"The target?"

Fury nods, and flips open the file that contains Ben and Reed's reports. "Whoever this 'Peter' is."

* * *

The strange spell Peter’s under lasts until morning. When the clock on Peter’s nightstand says 7:01AM, and it begins to chime, Peter sags, eyes falling shut, to the left, completely unconscious.

He’s woken twenty minutes later by Mary Jane. “Peter,” she says insistently, shaking his shoulder. “Peter!”

“What?” he says. He feels drowsy and weird and his head is pounding and did he just imagine last night? What the hell were those strange images? He has no concrete memories of any of them. If he tries to grasp at one, they just flicker away. But he can still feel them, oddly enough, as though they're all still there, rolling around in his head, at the edges of his consciousness.

“Aunt May wants to know what you want for breakfast. And we’re due at work in, like, thirty minutes.”

She’s dressed in her Nerd Herd uniform. A short skirt, white button-down shirt. She even manages to make a drab uniform look sexy and provocative somehow. Peter really doesn’t know how she does it; he just knows that he sure as hell isn’t capable of it. He's more of the sort who manages to make even sexy clothes somehow drab and boring and nerdy.

“Right,” he tells her. “Um. Just. Uh, toast or something is fine.”

“Toast or something. Okay.” She moves towards the door, but on the way she picks up his work shirt and tosses it at him. It lands on his face, and he splutters and moves it away. “Get dressed, loser. We have to go to work.”

“I’m coming,” he grouses, tossing the covers aside and getting up. “Give me five minutes.”

“I’m holdin’ you to that, Peter,” she says. “Don’t make me get fired.”

“If you get fired, it’ll be your own fault for showing up late all the time,” Peter says grumpily as he roots around for his pants.

“But my boys are always so pretty,” she says, pouting. “I can’t help it if I want to rock their world one last time, y’know?”

She grins at him and then slams the door shut. He can hear her calling out, “He wants toast, Aunt May!”

He can’t make out Aunt May’s response, but he doesn’t really need to. He knows there’ll be plenty of tongue clicking out of her over his inadequate choice of breakfast.

He'll be amazed if she doesn't have bacon, eggs, and maybe pancakes waiting for him by the time he gets down there.

* * *

He turns on the radio before he climbs into the shower. He feels strangely worn out, even though he must have slept last night. Those weird images—it was just some kind of bizarre dream. It had to have been. There’s no other explanation.

Still, he wonders idly who sent him that message, and how the hell they got ahold of his old game, and why they would’ve done such a random thing.

He hears the radio announcer say that they should expect heavy traffic on the I-495.

Suddenly Peter sees those bizarre images flicker past him again, now no longer beyond his reach. He frowns when it’s over and they fade away like they were never there.

What the hell was that?

* * *

It happens again at breakfast. Peter tugs the newspaper Aunt May left on the table towards himself as he's busy scarfing down breakfast.

It says the king of Latveria, Victor Von Doom, is giving a speech before the United Nations.

Those baffling images rush past him again. He knows somehow that the traffic on the I-495 is because Doom flew in this morning. He doesn't know how he knows that.

He sets the paper back down and frowns.

"Petey," Mary Jane says, checking the time on her phone. "We gotta go."

"Uh, right," Peter tells her.

* * *

Peter pushes all of the strange incidents out of his mind when he gets to work. It’s fine, he tells himself. Nothing weird is happening.

He’s at the Nerd Herd desk, busy reassembling a broken cell phone, while Mary Jane perches on the desk next to him, legs crossed, chewing a piece of gum and chatting up a storm.

She’s telling him about her most recent date—the boy she was out with, she says, was totally boring and clingy, and she’s so over guys who are like that. She’s a free spirit and she’ll date and sleep with whoever the hell she wants to, y’know?

But this guy, man, he must’ve thought he owned her or something, even though she made it pretty clear it was nothing more than a hook-up, just two adults having fun together.

He got pushy, so she left. Who has room in their life for that kind of negativity? There are many fish in the sea, she tells Peter. Many.

Then she trails off. “Whoa,” she says admiringly. “Total babe at ten o’clock.”

Peter looks up, and, sure enough, there’s a gorgeous blond walking towards them. Well-built, muscular, a small, trim waist and broad shoulders, and he’s just… “The hottest guy I’ve ever seen,” Peter says, awed. “He’s a total hottie."

“I saw him first,” Mary Jane says gleefully. “I call dibs.” She leaps off of the counter and walks towards him with her trademark dazzling smile. Sure to make hearts everywhere melt.

“Hello, sir,” she says politely. “Is there something I can help you with today?”

“Actually,” Total Hottie says, and even his voice is dreamy, and it’s just not fair, Peter thinks sourly. Mary Jane has all the luck, always, and Peter’s just…left behind with nothing. Then Total Hottie looks over at Peter and smiles, and Peter can feel the heat rising to his face, because, good god, this man is _beautiful_. “I was thinking I’d ask him.”

“Oh,” Mary Jane says, disappointed. “You play for _that_ team. Shoulda known.”

“I play for both, but that’s beside the point, beautiful,” he corrects with a smirk, and then walks towards Peter.

Peter fights the urge to run and hide. He’s going to screw this up, he just knows it. He always gets awkward around people he’s attracted to.

“Uh, h-hi,” Peter stutters nervously. “How can I, uh, help you today?”

Total Hottie looks amused at Peter’s awkwardness. “I’m having problems with my phone,” he says, and reaches into his grey suit jacket to yank out his phone. “Thought you guys could help, seeing as how you're, y'know—" His eyes flick up to the Nerd Herd sign above Peter's head. "—total nerds."

Peter’s staring at his face the whole time, mesmerized. He can’t tear his eyes away, and he’s pretty sure his mouth is gaping a little.

Total Hottie raises his eyebrows, and Peter realizes belatedly that he’s holding his phone out for Peter to look at. “Right!” Peter says hastily. “Uh, sure. That is. That is what we do here!”

He smiles nervously and reaches out for the phone. His fingers brush against Total Hottie’s and he has to fight off the urge to shiver. He's never washing that hand again.

“So what, uh, what seems to be wrong with it, Mr….?” Peter asks.

“Storm,” he says flippantly. “Johnny Storm.”

“Oh,” Peter says. “Cool name. It sounds very James Bond-y.”

“Yeah,” Johnny coughs, looking away. “It, uh, does, doesn’t it?” His eyes flick down to Peter’s name tag. “Peter?”

“Yeah,” Peter says. “Peter Parker. My name, uh, isn’t as cool as yours.”

Johnny smiles at him, and Peter feels like the sun’s just come out after a month of rainy days. Good god. He’s so damn gorgeous it makes Peter want to cry.

“I like it,” Johnny says. “It’s a nice, solid name. Very—“ His eyes rake over Peter’s face. He smiles suggestively. “—cute.”

Oh, god. He’s flirting. This is definitely flirting, and Peter’s not sure how to proceed, because he hasn’t flirted in, oh, five years, and he’s definitely rusty, but this guy is so hot, Peter can’t let this go without responding.

“So, what’s wrong with the—the phone you brought?” he asks. Oh, well. No one ever said he was brave when it came to boys.

“My phone is kind of restarting all the time, which is irritating,” Johnny explains. “I was hoping you guys could fix it.”

“Oh, well, have you done the latest update?” Peter asks. “Plenty of customers came in after the last update complaining about that.”

“No, uh, I’ve been away on a business trip, and I…didn’t have access to the Internet where I was,” Johnny says.

“Oh,” Peter replies. “I thought there was Internet just about everywhere these days.”

Johnny chuckles. “No, believe it or not, there are still some parts of the world that don’t have Internet access.”

“This was out of the country. Oh. Okay. Well,” Peter says, very professionally, “if you just log in, I can get that update started for you, Mr. Storm.”

“Oh, please,” Johnny says, waving a hand. “Call me Johnny. Mr. Storm makes me feel old.”

“Right,” Peter says. “You’re definitely not old at all. I mean, look at you. Clearly you’re, uh, the perfect age.” He frowns. “Uh, I’m sorry. That might’ve sounded creepier than I intended.”

“No,” Johnny says, chuckling as he signs into his phone. “It’s fine, really.” He looks pleased, so it must be. “I get that sort of thing all the time.”

Peter feels a little crestfallen. Yeah, he probably does. Look at him. What kind of a chance does someone like Peter have? None. None at all.

Peter takes the phone back and quickly navigates to the settings page, and then starts the upload for Johnny. “There you go, Johnny,” he says, handing the phone back with a smile. “It’ll take a few minutes, but then your phone should be good as new.”

“Shame,” Johnny says idly. “If it was still broken, I’d have an excuse to come back and see you again.”

Peter’s jaw drops open. “Um,” he says. “Uh. You…would want to?”

Johnny smiles sultrily and leans forward. “Yeah,” he says. “Hell, yes. What can I say? I have a total soft spot for nerds.”

Peter swallows. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest. “Well. Uh, lucky, lucky me.”

Johnny’s head drops and he chuckles a little. “You know, you’re really adorable. So what’s a cute guy like you doing in a place like this?”

“Believe it or not,” Peter jokes, “this pretty face isn’t enough to live off of.”

Johnny hums. “Shame.”

Unfortunately, a middle-aged woman runs up and starts shouting to Peter about an emergency with her camera.

Peter sighs internally. This just proves it. He has no luck, none at all. Johnny ‘Total Hottie' Storm isn’t gonna wait around for him. He’ll probably forget Peter exists the minute he walks out of that door, dammit.

He smiles as pleasantly as he can at the woman and starts trying to figure out how to help her.

Sure enough, by the time he's done, Johnny's gone. 

Mary Jane saunters up to him and hands him what looks like a business card. "Looks like someone's getting lucky," she smirks.

Peter stares down at it. Written in blue ink, right there, is Johnny's number, the words "Call me," scrawled above it. 

He's not sure how to feel, all of a sudden. This feels too good to be true.

* * *

Johnny strolls out to the parking lot and climbs casually into the passenger seat of a dark blue rental car. 

"So," he says, "how'd I do, sis? Seduction technique, ten out of ten?"

"'I have a total soft spot for nerds,' Johnny? 'What's a cute guy like you doing in a place like this'?" Sue asks dryly as she twists the key and turns the ignition on. "Is that really the best you could come up with?"

Johnny sulks a little. " _I_ thought it was good."

Sue sighs and slowly backs the car out of the parking spot. "Well, you never were that great in your class on seduction at the academy."

"Whaaat?" Johnny says indignantly. "What are you talking about? I rocked at it!"

Sue rolls her eyes. "Sure you did, bro. Sure you did."

Johnny harrumphs. "Well, it worked well enough on him. He was practically drooling. I actually think he may have, just a little bit. Can't say I blame him. I'm totally hot."

"You read his file. He hasn't been out on a date in five years. He's just desperate." She scrunches up her nose. "And a teensy bit pathetic."

"Well,  _I_ thought he was cute," Johnny says defensively. 

Sue shoots him a look. "No. Stop. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Don't do _this_ again. Don't you dare fall for the asset. Didn't what happened with Crystal teach you what a bad idea that was?"

"Don't talk about Crystal," Johnny snaps. "I told you not to mention her."

"I know, bro, but I'm just doing it for your own good. Don't fall for this guy. That way trouble lies."

"I never said I was falling for him. I just said he was kind of cute."

Sue snorts. "Uh-huh. Of course you're not."

"I'm not. Where to next?" Johnny asks.

"We go to his house. Intel says that the message from Stacy was sent to his laptop. We need that hard drive. The Intersect may still be on it. Just pray your little boyfriend hasn't opened it yet."

"He's _not_ my--Oh, forget it."

* * *

Johnny's standing in the middle of Peter's room, dressed all in black from head to toe, face hidden by a black ski mask.

"Hey," he tells his sister excitedly over the comms as he looks at all of the posters and video games Peter's got. "He's got kind of good taste in movies and games and stuff."

"Stop it," Sue hisses. "Focus. Get the computer."

"Right," Johnny says. He spots it on Peter's bed and snags it. "Got it. On my way out now. Like the wind. Or a ninja. A wind-ninja?"

* * *

Sue presses her forehead against the steering wheel.

Oh, god. Her baby brother's definitely got a crush. This is not good.

Why is he like this?

Sue's never fallen for an asset in her life, because she actually has some degree of control over her emotions. Unlike Johnny. 

He's lucky he has her to watch out for him, or god knows where he'd be right now.

Probably not alive and annoying the hell out of her, that's for sure.

* * *

That afternoon, when he gets home from work, Peter freaks out quietly, because he can't find his laptop anywhere. 

He knocks on Mary Jane's door and finds her on her own laptop, listening to music and humming along. She pulls out her earbuds when she sees him and says, "Hey, Pete. What's up?"

"MJ," he says, "have you seen my laptop? You didn't take it to Skype-sex with your Brazilian boyfriend again, did you?"

Mary Jane shakes her head. "No, Pete. Last time I saw it was when you had it this morning."

Peter scowls. "Dammit! I don't know what happened to it. It was in my room, and now it's not."

"Maybe your aunt took it?"

"Yeah," he says. "I'll poke around."

* * *

He looks and looks, but can't seem find it. Aunt May hasn't seen it, and neither has Anna.

Finally he decides gremlins must have taken it, and he winds up dejectedly watching reruns of _Battlestar Galactica_ on the television in the living room. 

This is his life, he guesses. Nothing ever goes right. He somehow even managed to lose his laptop in a locked house.

He hardly even registers when Mary Jane kisses him on the cheek on her way out on a date. "Call the Total Hottie," she urges.

Peter looks up at her and squints until he remembers. "Oh," he says. "Right. Uh, Total Hottie."

She rolls her eyes. "Peter," she tells him. "Don't be nervous."

"I'm--I'm not," he says. 

"You haven't been on a date in five years," she says dryly. "You're nervous, buddy."

Peter rolls his eyes. "Fine. Maybe a little."

"Call him, or I will hurt you," Mary Jane threatens.

"I'll think about it," Peter says.

She sighs and walks out. "I'm off to have sex with a really hot guy, which you could be doing too, just FYI, if you weren't totally lame!"

Peter sighs and turns back to the television. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out Johnny's card and stares at it.

He pulls out his phone and dials the number, finger hovering over the call button.

Oh, who is he kidding? Even if they did go out on a date, there's no way it would ever work out.

Johnny was probably just being nice to him anyways. He probably doesn't really like Peter all that much.

Guy as damn good-looking as him could probably've picked up a dozen guys by now, all of them hotter and more successful than Peter.

Peter doesn't have a chance in the world with him.

He sets his phone down and sticks the card back in his pocket, and settles down with a tub of Cheetohs.

Yep. This is his life now. 

* * *

Peter's floored, completely and totally floored, when he looks up at work the next morning to find Johnny and his beautiful face smiling down at him. 

"Hey," Peter says awkwardly. "Is your phone acting up again?"

"Yeah," Johnny says. "Guess it must be. I didn't get a call from you last night."

"Oh," Peter says, eyes wide. "I, uh, I just assumed--"

"That I wasn't really serious about it?" Johnny's mouth twists. "Look," he confesses. "Me 'nd my sister, we just moved here from D.C. I don't know anybody here, and it's a big city, and, well, you seem nice. I would really like to go out on a date with you." He huffs. "I spent all of last night watching that _Battlestar Galactica_ marathon on TV. Totally lame, I know."

"Oh," Peter says. "Um, that's actually what I did too."

Johnny's face lights up. "Really, dude? That's, uh, that's awesome. I can never get my sister into any of that stuff, and, well, we move around a lot, so I don't, uh, have many people to talk to. It gets kind of lonely. That's why I wanted to date you. I could use the company, y'know?"

"So I'd be--be doing _you_ a favor by going out with you?" Peter asks a little incredulously.

"It's because I'm hella hot, isn't it?" Johnny sighs. "I can't help that, y'know. Look, despite my awesome face and ridiculously hot bod, I'm just a regular guy who moved to a new city and doesn't know anybody. Do me a solid and go out on a date with me?"

"Yeah," Peter says. "Okay. Tonight, maybe?"

Johnny beams at him. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. You've got my number, right?"

Peter nods. "I'll call you."

Johnny starts backing away. "But really call me this time. Like, _really_. Don't make me come back again tomorrow, Parker."

Peter laughs at him. "Go away, you idiot. I'll call you, I swear."

* * *

Peter doesn't stop smiling the rest of the day, no matter how many rude customers he has to deal with. 


End file.
